Tag: sailing

My favourite travel memories from A to Z shared with the #AlphabetAdventure hashtag on social media.

This year, travel has been on the backburner in a big way, with international flights shut down, and many countries, including my home in the UK, imposing a domestic lockdown to prevent the spread of the COVID-19 and ease pressure on health services over the peak of the pandemic.

Throughout April and early May many travel bloggers shared pictures of their travels on social media with the hashtag #AlphabetAdventures. It was a chance to remind ourselves of the wide, wild world out there, waiting for us to explore once the coronavirus pandemic passes, and relive some memories from our travels. It also gave us the chance to travel vicariously to new destinations while we stay safe at home under lockdown.

Lessons learned from sailing experiences that prepared me for isolation during lockdown.

I’ve just returned to the UK from Antarctica, to be faced with strange and uncertain times as a consequence of the global COVID-19 outbreak. I spent four months at Port Lockroy, living and working on a small island with a close team, and as some of you may know, before that I worked on several traditional sailing vessels.

Some of the sailing voyages I made were long; bluewater passages far from land, or any other vessels for that matter. Being on the open ocean is both an awesome experience and deeply monotonous, epically profound and incredibly prosaic. And it has been thorough preparation for our current situation. Sailing on an empty sea with the same crew for weeks at a time, often facing stormy and uncertain conditions has taught me valuable lessons that can be applied to this lockdown.

Of course, there are vital differences. Making a long ocean passage is a choice (though by day 19 you may beg to differ), unlike our required lockdown to keep ourselves and our communities protected from infection. But the sense of isolation, precariousness, and cabin fever is familiar.

So, some advice from a sailor, to help us weather these uncertain times. Here are 11 lessons I’ve learned about living in isolation.

The novelty will wear off.

The first few days after setting sail are thrilling; the endless expanse of the ocean, fresh wind in your hair, and salt spray on your skin. The excitement of heading into the unknown. A feeling of complete freedom.

It may be the same during the lockdown period. At first, the luxury of idle time. Oh, the possibilities! But then the monotonous ocean swells of boredom roll on and on over the horizon, no end in sight. It can be hard not to feel a little melancholic, but understand that it’s natural to feel this way, and it will ebb and flow over time. Prepare yourself, and don’t let your worries become overwhelming.

The work is never done.

Cruising along under sail, it might seem like there’s little activity happening aboard a ship. Once the sails are set, what remains to be done? Actually, there’s more than enough to keep busy. A good bosun has a neverending list to work on before the end of the voyage. Make yourself a lockdown list of everyday chores, outstanding tasks, and even aspirational undertakings, adding to it as the days in isolation go on. Aim to accomplish one or more items ticked off each day.

Keep those goals achievable.

That being said, it can be tempting to make some grand plans when you’re without everyday interruptions. “I’ll become fluent in Spanish! I’ll finally write my novel! I’ll train for an ultramarathon!” If you have that level of focus and commitment, good on you.

I find it more effective to set small, attainable goals, so if times get tough, I still feel like I’ve achieved something. Right now, I have two main goals; to do something active every day, to rebuild my fitness after four months in Antarctica, and to write every day. Having these goals in place helps motivation, and sometimes finding that alone can be enough of a win.

You, the crew, then the ship.

You have certain responsibilities as part of the crew to keep everyone safe, and they come in this order:

Firstly, you are the priority. Take care of yourself. If you don’t look after yourself properly, you’re in no position to help anyone else who may need it. Keep healthy, stay well-rested, and ask for help if you need it. You are not alone.

Next in importance, take care of your crew. This applies to everyone on board, whether you are the captain, the cook, or just a deckhand. Look after your people, communicate openly with those around you, and do what you can to ensure those close to you are coping.

Finally, look after your vessel. If your living and working space is unsafe, then everyone in it is unsafe. That applies not just to physical dangers, but also to a hostile atmosphere, and any situation that leaves people feeling vulnerable. Again consistent communication is key; don’t allow small stuff to blow up out of control.

Get away from your gang.

On a voyage you might be put into a small team, called a watch, where you eat, sleep, and work together for the duration of the trip. Being with the same people for days on end, no matter how much you love them, has a way of turning great friends into huge irritations.

There is often nothing more infuriating than continually tripping over your shipmates in a small, shared space. Take it in turns to do various tasks, and in using shared spaces and resources. Make a schedule if you must. Find the time to do activities on your own.

Find space for yourself.

All ships, even big ones, feel small after a few days at sea. There’s virtually no private space onboard (save the heads, and that’s not really where you’d want to hang out), just your own bunk, a narrow coffin where you can shut out the rest of the world. That’s if you have the luxury of not hot-bunking on your voyage. But it soon gets pretty dull if that’s where you spend all of your time.

I always try to seek out a quiet spot to sit and read, write, or just stare at the water without needing to respond or react to others. Carving out a physical space lets you find the mental space you need. At home, we often have a door to close to create that refuge. Headphones or a book to get lost in can help when all your physical space is shared. Communicate with the others in your space about your needs, and when you want to be left alone, and respect that need in others.

In our current situation in the UK we’re permitted to leave our homes for short periods to exercise outdoors, so take advantage of the opportunity. Get out of your room before it starts to feel like a coffin.

I had found that it was not good to be alone, and so made companionship with what there was around me, sometimes with the universe and sometimes with my own insignificant self; but my books were always my friends, let fail all else.

Joshua Slocum, Sailing Alone around the World

Spend time together intentionally.

When you do spend time together, make it feel intentional. While sailing, members of the crew usually had their own roles, but we’d come together to eat dinner every night. At Port Lockroy, the evenings of our rest days became film nights, squashed together on the folded-out sofa bed. We’d find small excuses to celebrate too; Antarctica Day, Burn’s Night (and Heidi Day, of course), a visit to a ship for a sauna, the first penguin chick, a gifted bottle of wine and game of Bananagrams.

While celebrations might be too much to handle right now, find a ritual that feels good for your current living situation. Joyful ways to spend time together makes close company feel like a gift, not something that grates on you.

Keep in contact, at a distance.

Both during time at sea, and in Antarctica, our ability to communicate with the outside world was seriously limited. A satellite connection to send and receive emails, chats with nearby vessels on our VHF radio, and rare satellite phone calls home. In general, conversations weren’t particularly thrilling, but the interruption in the isolation was powerful. Emails from home made me feel connected, despite the physical distance.

There will still be moments that spark your joy.

This is an extraordinary time. It’s going to be tough. We’ll inevitably start to feel frustrated at some point. Many of us are already stressed, even fearful about what may happen. Some of us will end up out of work, others out of schooling, or even without a home. We might become sick, or have loved ones who will. We will lose people. We may not feel like we can cope, and darkness is drawing in. Give yourself the space to process those feelings. It’s ok to be not ok.

Moments of true beauty and joy will exist amid the monotony, uncertainty, and anxiety. The brightest star-filled sky on a night watch; a sunrise that sets the sky on fire; dolphins playing in the turbulent water under the bow. Slow yourself down, savour these times, and share them with others.

You can’t stop the gale, but you can reef your sails.

Right now, it seems impossible to plan for the week ahead, let alone next month or next year. Everything I scribbled into my journal as I sailed away from Antarctica is left on ice. Plans and potential melted away overnight. Now, I only have to deal with what is billowing around me.

We can’t calm this storm, but we can don our foul weather gear and reef the sails while we wait for it to pass. Many things will happen that are outwith our control, and the best we can do is to be prepared and take mitigating measures. Do what you reasonably can, don’t try to control the uncontrollable, or you’ll send yourself round the twist.

Treat yourself when it’s all over.

Unlike on an ocean voyage, we didn’t choose to be in this situation. But we can choose to hold on to hope, and to make the most of where we are right now. At the end of this lockdown, we’ll be able to meet up again, share our stories face-to-face over good food and a few drinks, and go for all the mountain hikes, wild swims, and bike rides that we’re missing right now.

Think about what you might do. Plan that holiday you’ve always dreamed of. Anticipate the meals in the restaurants you’re going to order. Use this time to reach out to friends and family you don’t see regularly, and talk about how you’ll get together again.

You’re more resilient than you think.

You’ve held the helm in the dark and rain for the last three hours, watched the sunrise, and according to the clock, should have been relived; so do you abandon your post? Not a chance. You’re not done until your relief takes over, and you are stood down. At present, there’s little indication of just how long this lockdown might actually last. We’re done when we are relieved of our duty to stay at home.

Right now, our responsibility is to stand by and remain vigilant until that time. Prepare the way you need to, taking each day (or hour) at a time. You are capable of so much, and you might not even know it yet. Believe me, you are tough enough for this.

In my previous edition of Armchair Travel, focused on Ocean films, I struggled narrow it down to just 10 of my favourites, and not to fill up the list with sailing movies filled with beautiful boats. So I split the two, and decide to offer you up a second helping.

I’ve put together a list of the best sailing movies I’ve seen, a mix of modern and classic, drama and documentary film. Tragedy and terrifying ordeals, unimaginable tales of survival, tempestuous adventures, and inspiring journeys of discovery all feature in my selection of sea-soaked cinema. Perfect for a dry night in on the sofa.

Swallows and Amazons (1974)

A classic film for a rainy Sunday afternoon. Four children (the Swallows) spend an idyllic summer learning to sail in the English Lake District, encountering ruthless pirates (the Amazons), before setting aside their quarrels to take on Captain Flint. The film is all about children’s rivalries and relationships. Swallows and Amazons forever!

Age of Sail (2018)

A beautifully animated short film that captures the end of an era, as the old skipper of a traditional Bristol pilot cutter contemplates his place in a world of steamships. The whole thing (12 minutes) is available to watch on youtube.

Deep Water (2006)

An excellent documentary telling the true story of the first-ever solo, non-stop, round the world sailing race in 1968. The film focuses on the tragic story of Donald Crowhurst and gives a real insight into how extreme solitude can affect mental state.

Adrift (2006)

A nautical horror that takes its power from the simplicity of the plot. A group of friends on an offshore sailing trip decide to take a dip in the ocean, leaving only a young baby aboard. But who remembered to rig the boarding ladder?

White Squall (1996)

Based on the true story of the school ship Albatross, which sank in the early 1960s, with a trainee crew of American teenagers. The voyage of a lifetime, learning about teamwork and discipline, becomes a harrowing battle for survival after encountering freak weather conditions.

Captains Courageous (1937)

A nautical film classic based on the 1897 novel by Rudyard Kipling. A spoiled rich boy falls overboard from a steamship, and is recovered by a Portuguese fishing vessel. To earn his keep onboard, he must join the crew in their work, and soon learns the lesson of hard graft in this touching film.

Dead Calm (1989)

If watching White Squall (awful weather) and Adrift (going overboard) haven’t scared you enough, this chilling thriller will finish you off. A grieving couple set sail on the trip of their lifetime. All is going well until they rescue a lost sailor who is drifting at sea…

Maiden (2019)

British sailor Tracey Edwards made history by skippering the first all-female crew in the Whitbread Round the World yacht race in 1989. This documentary dives deeply into the challenge of the competition on the open ocean, and the sea of misogyny faced by Edwards and the Maiden crew from other competitors and the press.

Sailing west into the setting sun on Atyla.

Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)

Russell Crowe makes a fine Captain Jack Aubrey in this period action film adapted from several Patrick O’Brien novels. Expect a pretty accurate depiction of a ship during the Napoleonic Wars, and some superb sailing sequences as Captain Jack Aubrey pushes his crew and ship to the limit whilst in pursuit of a French warship.

Captain Ron (1992)

A light-hearted comedy adventure film about a family that inherits a yacht and decide to set off on an adventure with the unlikely Captain Ron. I will die on this hill: this is one of the greatest films about sailing ever made, and that Kurt Russell is a brilliant actor (see The Thing, Big Trouble in Little China, Escape from New York, Tango and Cash, and the rest for more confirmation).

Which is your favourite sailing film? Do you have any recommendations?

I’d love to hear from you; let me know what you think in the comments.

I’ve compiled a list of my favourite books about Antarctica, including biographies, travelogues, and expedition tales.

I’ve long had a fascination with Antarctica, being captivated by stories of exploration and discovery in Readers Digest books at my grandparent’s house on long Scottish summer afternoons. Primary school trips to see the polar vessel RRS Discovery in Dundee, the three-masted barque that took Scott and Shackleton on their successful first voyage south, and to the penguin enclosure in Edinburgh Zoo, where I met Sir Nils Olav (then just RSM of the Norwegian King’s Guard), further fuelled that interest.

So I’ve been in an absolute whirlwind of excitement since finding out I’ve finally got the opportunity to go for myself; the realisation of a long-burning ambition. I’m part of the team from the United Kingdom Antarctic Heritage Trust that will be based at Port Lockroy, to run the famous Penguin Post Office, for the 19/20 season.

In preparation, I immersed myself in Antarctic-themed reading, and these are some of my favourite books. Until you get the chance for yourself, these books will transport you South. I’ve also rated each book by the amount of penguin content it contains, not as a comment on the quality of the writing. They’re all good books, Brent.

An excellent book covering everything you could possibly want to know about the “last great wilderness”, and the people drawn into its icy grasp for science, discovery and adventure. Walker weaves together personal stories gleaned from her travels in Antarctica, from the heroic age of exploration through to current climate breakdown studies, from scientists in the distinctly earthbound fields of geology and ecology to cosmetologists looking into deep space and deep time.

Lansing is a powerful storyteller, and this is one of the most epic stories ever. In 1914, the Endurance* set sail for Antarctica to establish a British base on the continent, and attempt the first overland crossing of the continent, but became trapped in the pack ice long before reaching her destination. The shifting, thawing, and freezing ice splintered the vessel, stranding Shackleton and his crew on the floes. The rest of the expedition is far more remarkable than the original plan, and against all odds, all survived.

Penguin rating: 🐧🐧/5

*a three-masted barquentine, which I know you needed to know. Discovery, pictured above, is a barque.

The Worst Journey in the World – Apsley Cherry-Garrard

As the youngest member of the team accompanying Robert Falcon Scott on his ill-fated attempt to reach the South Pole, Cherry-Garrard was one of only three survivors of the expedition, and part of the rescue mission that discovered the frozen bodies of his colleagues. His account pieces together diary extracts from other team members, adding details of scientific endeavours and anecdotes of resilience and endurance in the frozen south, touched with survivor’s guilt.

Penguin rating: 🐧🐧🐧🐧🐧/5

Polar Exploration is at once the cleanest and most isolated way of having a bad time that has been devised.

Apsley Cherry-Garrard

Icebird – David Lewis

I’ve included book recommendations onsailing expeditions previously in the Armchair Travel series, but this one is, without doubt, about the greatest and most terrifying feat in singlehanded sailing; a solo circumnavigation of Antarctica in 1972. Leaving Australia, Dr Lewis sailed out of radio contact for three months. On reaching Palmer Base on the Antarctic Peninsula, he revealed his 32′ (9.4m) steel cutter had capsized and dismasted twice (and would do so once more before the end of the expedition). A phenomenal undertaking to read as a non-sailor, and your worst nightmare if you are a sailor.

In 2012 Aston became the first person to complete a solo ski journey across the Antarctic landmass using muscle power alone**, taking 59 days to cover 1,744km (1,084 miles). Having worked as a British Antarctic Survey meteorologist, Aston was familiar with the landscape and weather conditions she was to face, but not with the solitude and sensory deprivation in the vast white expanse of the polar plateau.

Penguin rating: 🐧/5

** Norwegian Børge Ousland made the first solo ski crossing in 1997, using a kite to assist his 3,000km (1,864 miles) journey, crossing from sea to sea.

An excellent biography of Amundsen, the ultimate polar explorer, who in the UK is often sadly viewed as the villainous foil to Scott’s heroic failure. The Norwegian expedition to the pole was meticulously planned, using indigenous knowledge gleaned from Amundsen’s time with Inuit in the Arctic, and relied on dog teams to haul sleds rather than mechanical transportation and manhauling. In addition to winning the South Pole, he was the first to lead expeditions to traverse the Northwest and Northeast passages, and with Italian aeronaut, Umberto Nobile, was first to reach the North Pole.

An account of his time spent guiding guests on Antarctic voyages across the Southern Ocean, carved out in sparkling, spare prose, at a serene, glacial pace through the geology and ecology of the continent. His trademark austere writing style will not resonate with all readers, but the book is worth persisting with until it becomes all-absorbing.

A journey into the beauty and power of the forces of nature, combining travel writing, memoir, science narrative, and literature, on a tour to observe the icy cold corners of the earth before they become irreparably diminished. Beautifully and poetically written, with an artist’s eye, and an engrossing read as Campbell moves from curling rinks to cryo-labs to the crevasse that concealed Austrian iceman Ötzi.

Francis was posted to the isolated Halley V research station as the base doctor for a 14-month deployment, driven by a longing to see penguins since a childhood visit to Edinburgh Zoo, where my own fascination with Antarctica began. A blend of personal memoir, polar history, and nature writing, meditating on the isolation and solitude of his experience.

Yes, this is a book about cricket. About a rubbish village cricket team with an epic losing streak at that. But this hilariously funny and touchingly poignant account of an incompetent, disaster-filled attempt to play a match on every continent, including Antarctica, is the perfect companion book for tales of heroic expeditions, proving that passion and endurance in the face of tribulation isn’t just the reserve of adventurers. Thompson is an excellent writer, and provides a handy chart of fielding positions, if like me silly mid-off, cow corner, and third man mean nothing to you.

Penguin rating: 🐧🐧🐧🐧/5

Have you enjoyed any of these books? Which ice adventures would you recommend for me?

I’d love to hear from you; let me know what you think in the comments.

This post contains affiliate links. If you purchase through my link, I will make a small commission* at no additional cost to you. These help me to continue to run this site, providing tips and advice, and sharing stories from my adventures. Thank you for supporting me.

Where I’ve been and what I’ve done

I finished working on Irene in early September, after a beautiful few days sailing around Falmouth, visiting Charlestown, St. Mawes and the Helford River, and headed up to Cambridge for a week of training with theUK Antarctic Heritage Trust. It was an intense week, with a lot of information to take in, but an exhilarating experience as we covered a lot of the practical and theoretical stuff necessary for living and working in Antarctica.

A sunrise start on the Helford River near Falmouth in Cornwall.

The training week was followed up by a lot of online courses and independent research. I’ll write more about the training and preparation I’ve undertaken for my role at the Penguin Post Office in Port Lockroy soon, but I think nothing will actually come close to the experience of arriving and setting foot on the island for the first time.

At the end of September I headed to the Brecon Beacons, to meet a group of fantastic women and do something a bit unusual; hike up Pen y Fan wearing a corset, bloomers and full tweed skirts. You can read more about our Great Corset Caper here, and the good cause that inspired us, My Great Escape here.

Autumn in Glen Tanar on Royal Deeside.The view towards Mount Keen and the mounth from Glen Tanar.Autumn leaves about to fall on a frost nipped morning.

Working remotely gave me the chance to take a few weeks up in Scotland, and catch up with friends and family in October. I had a couple of days in Newtonmore, for a reunion with TGO Challengers and some walks around the central Cairngorms, before heading over to the Aberdeenshire coast. Between researching and writing, I’ve also been for walks along the coast, on Deeside and through the Angus Glens. I also squeezed in a weekend break in Dundee with my sister and cousin.

Looking down towards Ryvoan bothy and over towards Abernethy Forest in the Cairngorms.By the dark waters of Loch Garten in Abernethy Forest, listening to the belling

Autumn is my favourite time of year, and when I think Scotland looks at its best. Trees put on a show with golden, copper and scarlet leaves, against the dark pines and yellow bracken. On a damp day in Abernethy, red pine needles on the forest floor glow and blaeberry leaves sparkle, fungi tucked underneath like pale wax candles. By the pewter sea streaked with white, I watched lapwings wheeling over the shore and eider ducks riding the swell. Every morning, as the sun rose later and later, started with the sound of skeins of wintering geese overhead.

The South Aberdeenshire coastal path approaching the Haughs of Benholm. Watch out for hares in the long grass just after crossing the bridge.A wild and windy day on the North Sea coast.

I was very excited to spot a goshawk perching on a fence post not far from home; an identification that was made so much easier as a buzzard (the usual occupant of local fences) was sat a few posts down on the opposite side of the road. It was heartening to see, as raptors have been persecuted badly in the region in the recent past.

This season’s update was written a little earlier than it’s been posted here, as November sees me travelling south. I’ll fly from London to Buenos Aires, then onward to Ushuaia, where I’ll join a cruise ship for a lift into Port Lockroy. All things going well, which means with fine weather and good sea ice conditions, our team will be settled on the island by the middle of the month, with the Penguin Post Office open for business.

My Autumn love list

Books:The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard, an account of observing emperor penguins and recovering the first eggs for scientific study on the Terra Nova expedition. The team faced temperatures of -40C (-40F) and day-round darkness, returning to their base at Cape Evans barely alive. Cherry’s two colleagues, Dr Wilson and “Birdie” Bowers, would later perish on the return from the pole on Scott’s ill-fated expedition.

Films:Encounters at the End of the World, a documentary about the people working in Antarctica by Werner Herzog. Though he states this isn’t a film about “fluffy penguins”, there’s an especially heart-wrenching moment with an Adelie penguin, which friends who have seen it made sure to remind me of. They also made sure that I’d seen The Thing.

They’re the kind of friends you need.

Clothing: My current favourite thing is a grey merino wool sweater, lightweight enough for layering or wearing alone on warmer autumn days. It will be a useful midlayer to take to Antarctica with me.

I’ve been issued with several items of branded kit by UKAHT supplied by Rab, including the microlight Alpine down jacket. I’ve tested it out in the bracing wind blowing off the North Sea around my folk’s house, and on frosty morning walks in the Cairngorms. I’m quite confident that it will serve me well down south.

Equipment: While I was home my dad gave me a solid fuel handwarmer that he used to take out fishing, which used to belong to my granda. It’s going straight into my kit bag to come with me to Antarctica.

And after a couple of weeks of consideration, I also picked up new sunglasses, a pair of Cebe Summits. The category 4 level UV protection will be essential with light reflecting off snow and water in Antarctica, though it makes them too dark for use at the moment.

Food: As I’ve been back home in Aberdeenshire for a few weeks, I’ve been stuffing myself with butteries for breakfast. Also known as rowies if you’re from the city rather than the shire, these are flattened, crusty bread rolls traditionally made for fisherman to take to sea. Ideally, they should be served warm, spread with butter and jam on the flat side. Rhubarb and ginger jam is my favourite.

The Nissen hut at Port Lockroy, my home for the next four months. Photo credit: UKAHT.

What’s Next?

Thanks for following along with my journey on These Vagabond Shoes.

I’m about to disappear off the virtual world for a few months, to live at the end of the real world in Antarctica. While I won’t be able to keep you up to date with my adventures in real-time, there are a few things I’ve scheduled on Twitter and Facebook. and in the blog to fill in the time until I return. Looking forward to seeing you on the other side (with an unbelievable number of penguin pictures)!

I’ve put together a selection of my favourite books with an ocean theme, including nature writing, biography, and childhood favourites.

I’m incredibly fortunate to have spent almost all of the spring and summer of 2019 working as a deckhand and wildlife guide on board Irene of Bridgewater, a traditional gaff ketch with over a hundred years of history, exploring the stunning coastline and islands around the British and Irish Isles, with occasional trips to the other side of the channel too.

I know I’ve already presented you with a selection of sailing adventures in this Armchair Travel series, but I just can’t stay out of the ocean. So here are some of the books that have excited and inspired me about the sea.

A series of essays making a luminescent meditation on the meaning of the sea. Stories of swimming, shipwrecks, salvage, memorials, and unsustainable development form the bones for ideas of anthropology, science, history, and philosophy unveiled in beautiful literary prose.

Past and present, myth and reality, wild nature and human lives flow together in this beautiful but challenging retelling of a Maori legend. Two narratives weave together: Kahu, a young girl seeking recognition from her grandfather, an elder of the tribe; and the poetic migration of the whales reliving the legend of Kahutia Te Rangi, the whale rider. Thoughts on race and prejudice, and the balance between preserving tradition and moving with the times in indigenous cultures makes this much more than an average young adult read.

Most of us will know of Rachel Carson from her seminal work Silent Spring, documenting the environmental crisis arising from the indiscriminate use of pesticides. But her first and most enduring passion was marine ecology, brought vividly to life in this work by creating a personal connection to individual creatures inhabiting different niches in the marine and coastal environment. This is a beautiful book to share with young people.

The island lay in shadows only a little deeper than those that were swiftly stealing across the sound from the east. On its western shore the wet sand of the narrow beach caught the same reflection of palely gleaming sky that laid a bright path across the water from island beach to horizon. Both water and sand were the color of steel overlaid with the sheen of silver, so that it was hard to say where water ended and land began.

Rachel Carson

The Kon Tiki Expedition – Thor Heyerdahl

This is the account of Thor Heyerdahl and his companions sailing a balsa raft more than 4000 miles across the Pacific from Callao in Peru to the remote Tuamoto archipelago. I don’t know if it’s possible to convey just how influential it’s been in my life. I first read it when I was around 10 years old, and fell in love with the idea of living a life filled with adventures; with learning about sailing and navigation throughout history and human migration and movement; with studying marine ecology and oceanography. I even have a copy in the original Norwegian which has helped me with learning the language.

A summertime coming-of-age novel where the protagonist, nature obsessed 14-year-old Miles O’Malley, discovers a giant squid washed up in Skookumchuk Bay, and accidentally becomes a prophet for a local cult. A beautifully written book that captures both the mystery of the ocean and the uncertainty of adolescence perfectly.

Another swirling and surging work examining how the sea shapes our lives and our sense of otherness. Personal experiences and travels lead to thoughts on swimming, poetry and literature, and philosophy connecting notable characters from Byron to Bowie, Melville to Woolf. I read this while landlocked through the winter, in between signing off from one ship on the Algarve and joining another in Devon, and it kept the salt air in my hair and sand between my toes.

The Silent World – Jacques-Yves Cousteau

A classic book by a pioneer of underwater exploration. This is Cousteau’s autobiographical account of the experiments and trials leading to the development of SCUBA equipment, or aqualung, along with Phillipe Tailliez and Frédéric Dumas, and their transformation into “menfish”. It’s the reason why my internal voice while I’m diving has a French* accent.

There cannot be too many books by Carson on your TBR list, but I’ll hold myself back by only recommending these two. In this, she tells the story of the oceans, from their geological origins and the beginnings of life, through early exploration and discovery, increasing scientific understanding of processes and systems, to the impact human activity is having. The dawning of the Anthropocene. It’s hard to grasp that this book was written in 1951, nearly 70 years ago, given the prescience of the writing, and is just as fresh and relevant today.

A collection of travel and nature essays crafted on journeys around the coast of the British and Irish Isles and Scandinavia, though that word doesn’t quite feel right for describing the pieces of poetic reflection and personal remembrance that shine like wet pebbles picked from the shore. A masterclass in the art of observation.

Keep looking. Keep looking, even when there’s nothing much to see. That way your eye learns what’s common, so when the uncommon appears, your eye will tell you.

A familiar figure to many from her TED talks, National Geographic articles, and Mission Blue movement, Earle has a depth and breadth of knowledge equal to her subject matter. The writing is straightforward and accessible, and her passion shines through in every page as she details all that ails the oceans. But what is most shining about this book is that despite the overwhelming negativity of the content (overfishing; resource extraction; pollution; biodiversity loss and species extinctions; habitat degradation and destruction; plastic contamination; and how the health of the ocean is vital to our own), the message is that there is still time to take action.

Which of these books have you enjoyed? Do you have any Ocean themed recommendations for me?

I’d love to hear from you; let me know what you think in the comments.

This post contains affiliate links. If you purchase through my link, I will make a small commission* at no additional cost to you. These help me to continue to run this site, providing tips and advice, and sharing stories from my adventures. Thank you for supporting me.

Where I’ve been and what I’ve done:

Through this summer most of my travels have either been onboard Irene, or around the areas where the ship has been based. After completing the TGO Challenge, and taking part in an interview for a winter job, I returned to Oban to rejoin the ship. After a quick turn around, we picked up Kag, our kayaking guide, and a bunch of boats, and headed out to explore the islands of the Inner Hebrides.

Looking back at Oban from the middle of the Sound of Kerrera

Our first stop was the sheltered water of Loch Spelve, on the eastern side of Mull, to wait out high winds and feast on mussels from the local farm and foraged seaweed. As I was pottering about in the tender I had a phone call. I was successful at the interview. I got the job! Or more accurately, I was going to be part of the team to do the job. More about that below.

Deckhand Dan, possibly the least successful fisherman on Irene.

Once storms abated, we headed through the Sound of Mull and round Ardnamurchan Point to the Small Isles, spotting a couple of minke whales on the way. We dropped anchor off Eigg, under the imposing An Sgurr, for a couple of nights, and I was fortunate to join the group for a paddle along the east side of the island accompanied by singing seals and diving gannets. Kag also introduced us to the concept of sea diamonds, which made kayaking in a total downpour seem damply magical.

Back in Oban, we had time for a quick crew turn around and a couple of great nights out, before heading out. This time we turned southwards, heading for Jura, and the sheltered water of Loch Tarbert, and Islay, dropping the kayakers in near Ardbeg for a paddle round to Port Ellen, with as many whisky stops as they could manage. On the return leg, we called in by the islands of Oronsay and Colonsay, anchoring in beautiful Kiloran Bay for a barbecue on the beach.

Irene at anchor in Kiloran Bay, Colonsay. An extremely damp beach recce, but the weather dried up overnight for a beautiful stay.

At the end of June, I had what felt like my first proper holiday in a very long time. I spent five days on the Isle of Coll in the Inner Hebrides, and was blessed with the best weather conditions. A spot of rain on the first afternoon, just enough that I didn’t feel I was missing out while I caught up on sleep after leaving the ship. Then beautiful sunshine and light winds to cycle around from one end of the island roads to the other, and stopping off at spots around the island to hike, swim, birdwatch and beachcomb.

The sweeping silver sand beach at Feall Bay, Isle of Coll

At the end of my leave, I returned to Irene in Swansea, to move her round to Cornwall for the final months of the season. We stopped off at Lundy on the way, anchoring overnight beneath the cliffs. A 1am wake-up call to move anchor at the turn of tide turned out to be one of the most magical experiences of the voyage, as thousands of Manx shearwaters swirled through the air around us, through the rigging, and called out from their burrows. A stowaway bird emerged from the hawsepipe the following morning, and I helped her back to the sea.

At anchor off Lundy in the Bristol Channel on our way between Wales and Cornwall.

We finished our voyage in Newlyn, which became our base for the next month for voyages to the Isles of Scilly and Brittany, and very quickly one of my favourite places. As a working fishing port, life here lacks the softness and sanitation of nearby coastal villages. You wouldn’t be wrong to describe the place as rough or gritty, especially after a night out to the Swordfish pub, once considered one of the toughest in the UK, but the richness of the stories I found was compelling.

I’d been looking forward to visiting the Isles of Scilly all summer, however weather conditions were not in our favour. One drizzly grey voyage, and another blown out by an Atlantic storm. However, the Brittany trip was fantastic, with a few days exploring around Tréguier and Ile de Bréhat, and a wonderful wildlife-filled channel crossing, with common dolphins accompanying the ship from sunrise onward. The only disappointment was that we arrived back to Newlyn on the very same day a humpback whale was filmed lunge feeding just a couple of miles away, and we missed it. Check out the awesome photos on the Lone Kayaker’s blog, including one of Irene passing St Michael’s Mount.

On my next leave, I caught up with the rest of the team for my new job for a couple of days in London to get to know each other better, and for the chance to bombard Lucy, returning for a second season, with hundreds of questions about what to expect.

Keeping lookout from the top of the lightboxSailing onto our mooring outside Charlestown Harbour.

Back on Irene, we relocated the ship to Falmouth, using it as a base to explore the coast from The Lizard and Start Point, visiting Salcombe, Fowey, and Mevagissey, as well as a favourite anchorage in the Helford River. With big winds forecast on a couple of days, we also explored the upper reaches of the Fal above Trelissick Gardens. At the very end of August, we dropped in by the Classic Sail Festival at Charleston Harbour, deep in Poldark country. So many beautiful boats that I want to sail on.

Lowestoft drifter Gleaner arriving at Charleston Harbour

Lugger Greyhound, the fastest of the UK classic sailing fleet

Greyhound meeting topsail schooner Anny of Charleston

The new job!

So, it’s going to be very different this winter. I’m extremely excited to share the news that I’ll be heading to Antarctica, to spend the southern summer season working in the Penguin Post Office at Port Lockroy. I’ll be part of the team helping to run the Post Office and greet visitors to the island, and have the responsibility to monitor the resident penguin population through the season. I’m beyond overjoyed about it all, though a bit daunted at the prospect of four months on a small island in a remote setting.

My summer love list:

Books: It’s been difficult to find time to read through the summer, but long train journeys to meet the ship in Swansea and Newlyn were perfect. I read Empire Antarctic: Ice, Silence and Emperor Penguins by Gavin Francis, taking screeds of notes. I also discovered the fabulous Beerwolf pub/bookshop in Falmouth, and succumbed to temptation, buying a couple of copies of Granta Magazine.

TV Show: When I’m off the ship I can catch up on watching films and TV that I don’t usually get the chance to see. The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance has me so excited. I absolutely adored the film when I was young. And, inspired by my time in Cornwall this summer, I’ve got really into Poldark. For the traditional sailing ships, not the shirtless scything, honestly.

Clothing: I’ve been living in shorts and flipflops for the past three months. I don’t think I’ll ever manage to wear proper shoes again…

Equipment: I think my most used bit of kit through the summer has been a heavy duty drybag with a shoulder strap that I discovered in the magic middle aisle of Aldi. It’s been perfect for getting back and forward to the ship in the dingy while we’re on a mooring buoy or anchorage.

Food: Have you ever found a restaurant so good that you go back again the following night to finish off the menu? The Sound Pantry in Newlyn is one of those places. The most delicious home-made Portuguese food for dinner two nights in a row, plus a morning visit to pick up pasteis de nata for our coffee break.

Treats: I spent an afternoon in the galley with our ship’s chef Alex and learned how to make the most fantastic baklava. So good.

All the best food from The Sound Pantry in Newlyn, especially bacalhau a bras, lulas con nata, arroz de marisco…

My first attempt at making baklava, when I remembered to take a picture of it.

What’s next:

These next few weeks are going to be an exciting time, as I prepare for spending the next few months living in Antarctica and working at the Penguin Post Office in Port Lockroy.

I’ve also got a few hiking trips planned, including the Great Corset Caper, where I’ll join with a bunch of awesome women to take on Pen y Fan, in the Brecon Beacons, wearing period costume. I have to admit, I’m very nervous about it, particularly the corset.

Thanks for following These Vagabond Shoes. You can keep up to date with my adventures on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. And look out for plenty of penguin facts to fill the time while I’m out of contact down south.

I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to this season, or plans you have for the season ahead.

Let me know in the comments below.

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